


The Lindor Strategy

by aralias



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e11 Bounty;, Episode: s02e11 Gambit, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:37:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2345342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Worried that both Tyce Sarkoff and her father are out to date him, Blake concocts a cunning plan to thwart their misplaced affection. All he needs is a boyfriend - and he knows exactly where to find one...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lindor Strategy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [corngold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corngold/gifts).



> Corngold recently posted [a second Blakefest fic for me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2139033). Perhaps that shamed me into finishing the second Blakefest fic I had started writing for her. Here it is. 
> 
> Thanks to x_los for the beta, and elviaprose for being interested in it as it was being written. 
> 
> This was written for the prompt: _Blake/Avon with mistaken identity/fake relationship/some other OTT comedy stuff that results in sexy times._

**The Lindor Strategy**

“So, you see,” Blake explained, “we think Docholli _may_ be on Lindor. Our computer has found passenger records that show he arrived here two years ago, and there are no clear signs that he’s left the planet since you and your father returned.”

Tyce Sarkoff looked, if possible, even more regal than she had done in exile. Power clearly suited her – she’d been her father’s chancellor for almost a year now and, while some in that position would have looked tired and harried, Tyce looked as though she had personally ensured everything was under control, crossed her father's T's and dotted his I's.

Blake wondered absently whether he would make power look as effortless in the unlikely event that they won the war, and if there was no one better to take the job.

 _Possibly_ , he decided. It would probably depend on what sort of day it was.

“I’m not sure I like your computer being able to read our immigration records,” Tyce said, but she was smiling so it probably wasn't a threat.

“Don't worry. Orac is the only one that can,” Blake said, with a reassuring chuckle. “And,” he said quickly in case this hadn’t worked, “I wouldn’t have pried into your affairs at all, except that this is of the _utmost_ importance. If we can find Docholli, _talk_ to him, then we could be closer to freedom than we’ve ever been.”

“I do understand.”

“Then you’ll help us?”

“Oh, I want the Federation destroyed as much as you,” Tyce said. “Even if my father didn’t owe you his presidency, we’d still support you, Blake. I thought you knew that.”

“Thank you. I didn’t want to presume.”

“There’s a state function tomorrow, but I can send my father’s men out in search of Docholli next week. And I can distribute his records to the border-”

“Actually,” Blake said, “we were hoping to do it a bit more quietly and a bit more quickly than that. The more people know, the more likely it is that someone will mention to Servalan what or rather _who_ we’re looking for. There are still loyal Federation supporters on your planet.”

“Fewer by the hour, though,” Tyce said with a grin.

“Yes. Well, you’re certainly thorough,” Blake agreed. “I understand you also have a very sophisticated weapons-detection field in your major cities. Both my supercomputer and my computer-expert think they could get around it, given time, but I’d rather find Docholli _now,_ so I thought I’d try diplomacy.”

“You want to bring weapons onto Lindor?”

“I’d like to convince Docholli to tell me where Star One is by choice if possible,” Blake said, “by force if necessary. I can’t afford to let him get away – this is too important. But I also can’t trust that he isn’t protected by people who've had longer to get around your weapons-detection field than we have.”

“I can’t let you bring laser-weapons onto Lindor,” Tyce said firmly.

“But you understand how crucial this whole operation could be,” Blake protested.

“It would completely undermine my credibility, and put our citizens at risk,” Tyce said. “No, Blake. Let me finish,” she said as Blake opened his mouth to complain further. “I can’t let you bring your own weapons, but if you come to the palace first I’ll give you all guns from Sarkoff’s collection. They won’t be picked up by the energy-field. And I'll  come with you to make sure you know how to use them. That should give you the advantage you need.” She smiled. “Diplomacy works, if you give it time, Blake.”

Blake smiled back ruefully and tugged at his lip. “I have been told I’m too _impetuous_ to be a good politician before,” he admitted.

“But the same quality is perfect for a leader of the resistance,” Tyce said. “And exactly what my father needed to shake him out of his self-pity.”

Blake grimaced slightly, although he understood both comments were supposed to be compliments. He moved away in expectation of ending the transmission soon.

" _And_ it's very attractive,” Tyce said.

Blake turned back to her, eyebrows raised, to see what was definitely a predatory smile on Tyce’s face. She looked as though she’d hunted him across the planes and was now preparing to eat him - something she intended to enjoy. Jenna and Cally had hinted that Tyce’s feelings might tend in this direction, but Jenna also teased him about Avon, and Blake had written this off as more of the same. Clearly that had been the wrong choice. If he’d taken Tyce’s interest seriously, he might be in a better position to cope with it now.

“How long do you think you’ll be on Lindor?” Tyce asked. “We could have dinner. I’d really like to get to know you better.”

“If it’s just as friends, then so would I,” Blake said carefully.

“ _Friends_ ,” Tyce said.

“I’m really, very sorry,” Blake said. “You’re a very attractive woman. You’re intelligent, interesting, but-”

“You’re already in a relationship,” Tyce said.

Blake laughed. “Now who’s leaping to conclusions?” Tyce looked nonplussed. “I’m _gay_ ,” he explained gently. “It really _isn’t_ anything personal.”

Tyce’s mouth twisted and she sighed. “It seems my father was right,” she said. “Usually that makes me happier. He said he felt you and he were more alike than he was comfortable with.” She grinned. “Perhaps you should have dinner with _him_ instead.”

Blake’s looked back at her in alarm. The truth was that, just as Tyce intimidated and discomforted him slightly, so too did her father. Blake’s brand of charm had never successfully put Sarkoff at ease – they’d had a number of prickly conversations on the Liberator, even after Tarvin had been killed, leaving Blake with the distinct impression Sarkoff was irritated by him. Perhaps, Blake now realised, this was _because_ Sarkoff was attracted to him and didn’t like it. It was certainly how he himself behaved around Avon.

Sarkoff was also at least twenty years older than Blake, which was not in and of itself a problem, but Blake craved a relationship of equals. Sarkoff’s high office and extensive political experience already made that impossible, and the age difference only exacerbated that. It would have put Blake off, even if he had fancied Sarkoff (and he _really_ didn’t fancy Sarkoff) and if he wasn’t already in love with someone else he couldn’t have.

But explaining any of that would only make this situation more awkward than it already was.

“I’m afraid I am _also_ already in a relationship,” he said.

“Really?” Tyce said and Blake nodded. This was good. Nobody would get hurt or offended this way. And it was just a small lie. He could definitely contain it. “How interesting," Tyce said. "Who’s the lucky man? Someone from your crew?”

“...Yes,” Blake said, mentally kicking himself. It would have to be. If he claimed to be dating someone he never saw there would be awkward questions about _why_ he never saw this person he was so faithful to.

“Well. l look forward to meeting him then,” Tyce said with a smile. “See you at the palace, Blake.”

*

“Vila,” Blake said as the door slid open, “how much do you think is a very large amount of money?”

“I’m not doing it,” Vila said. “Sorry, Blake. No deal.” The door started to slide shut again, but Blake jammed an elbow into it and it slid back.

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” he protested.

Vila backed away into his room, his finger pointed accusingly at Blake. “No, but I know that, whatever it is, you think you need to offer me unlimited riches before I’ll do it. You didn’t try to bribe me to go to Central Control, so this has to be worse than that, so the answer, Blake, is no.”

“What if I told you that your life would be in absolutely no danger?” Blake persisted.

“I wouldn’t believe you,” Vila said. “And I don’t believe you about the money either, though incidentally if you tried five million credits I might be wiling to listen. That’s a lot of money.”

“I will give you _six_ million credits,” Blake said firmly, “if you agree to come with me to the lovely peaceful, _neutral_ planet of Lindor, where they don’t even allow weapons, and pretend to be my boyfriend while we look for Docholli.”

“This is vital to the revolution?”

“Yes,” Blake said irritably.

Vila considered this. “Kissing?” he said.

“No,” Blake said. “Just... if anyone asks you, say that you are. And you’ll probably have to sleep on the sofa in my room. On a peaceful, neutral planet where nobody will try and shoot you, I promise.”

“And for that I get six million credits?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you,” Vila said. “You don’t have six million credits. Believe me, I’d know if you did.”

“All right!” Blake said. “I don’t. You’re right. But I do have sixty credits.” He removed the notes from his jacket and held them out as a show of good faith. “ _A_ _nd_ I know where Cally and I hid the excess bottles of soma.”

“And you’d just give that soma to me, would you?”

Blake wrestled with himself. He needed to go to Lindor, therefore he could not afford to offend Tyce and her father, therefore he needed Vila, _therefore_ he would have to sacrifice the soma, even though they might need it for medicinal purposes on the quest for Star One.

“Yes,” he said eventually. “I would give it to you in exchange for your cooperation on Lindor.”

“What if we need it for medicinal purposes?” Vila asked. Blake glared at him, and Vila said, “That’s what Cally’s always saying to me.”

“ _If_ that happens, _then_ we will find an alternate source of soma.”

Vila looked thoughtful. Eventually, he said, “You’re not very good at long-term planning, are you, Blake?”

Blake sighed irritably and tried not to waste time worrying about whether that was true. “I promise to work on it for the good of our relationship,” he said with exaggerated patience. “Now will you come with me to Lindor or not?”

There was another pause, and Blake felt increasingly more awkward

“Ever heard of Del Ten, Blake?” Vila asked.

“Er... yes. It’s pleasure planet, isn’t it?” Blake said, thrown by the nonsequiter. “In this quadrant, I think. The atmosphere is full of naturally occurring beta particles, which brings in tourists from across the galaxy. There is conjecture that the Federation may be attempting to create pacification drugs from the particles, but I don’t see what this has to do with Lindor _or_ Star One.”

“It doesn’t,” Vila said. “That’s the best part about it. Well, apart from the beta particles and the free drinks, and the dancing girls-”

 _“Dancing girls?”_ Blake repeated.

“It’s a quality operation,” Vila said. “They wouldn’t skimp on a thing like that. You want a boyfriend, Blake – and I want to go to Del Ten. Give me your promise that we can spend a week there once we find Docholli and I’m your man.”

“Vila, once we’ve found Docholli, we will have the key to finding Star One,” Blake pointed out.

“Are there any dancing girls on Star One?”

“I very much doubt it.”

“Then I’d still rather go to Del Ten,” Vila said.

“Couldn’t you _wait_?” Blake suggested. “Until after we blow up Star One?”

“After you blow up the Federation’s weather control systems, you mean?” Vila said. “And throw the civilised world into chaos? Right, I’m sure that would be a lovely time to take a holiday. Got any more suggestions like that, Blake? Perhaps I should invest in the stock market at the same time.”

“Two days,” Blake said. “I could give you _two days_ on Del Ten.”

“A week!” Vila repeated.

Blake shut his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He willed himself to find the strength to complete this conversation and make the right choices.

“Oh, Blake,” Vila said kindly. “You really need this, don’t you?”

Blake felt a hand rest on his shoulder and looked up into Vila’s sympathetic eyes. “Yes,” he said with relief. “I’m sorry, Vila. I don’t want to put you in this position. But I really do need this.”

“You’re going to have to give in then,” Vila told him in the same kindly tone as before. “Unless,” he said, a twinkle in his eye, “that is, you want to ask Avon to be your boyfriend...”

*

“Right,” Blake said as he, Cally, and Vila materialised in Sarkoff’s hallway, “Cally, just so you know, Vila and I have been lovers for the last year. If anyone asks, we are not thinking about marriage or children-”

“Well,” Vila said, “that’s what he thinks.” He nudged Blake with his elbow, and Blake closed his eyes, already regretting this choice. Now that an appropriate reward had been promised, Vila had decided to play the part he'd been assigned with gusto. Unfortunately this had involved looking through the wardrobe room for hours in the search of a Hawaiian shirt. Even more unfortunately he'd found one, and Avon had seen him in it as they teleported down. Avon hadn't said anything, but he'd met Blake's eyes, and raised one sardonic eyebrow. It was not quite the most mortifying experience of Blake's life, but it was certainly worth trying to forget.

“How astonishing,” Cally said. “I had no idea at all. I knew Blake was homosexual, but I always assumed it was Avon who-”

“We’re not _really_ in a relationship,” Blake said firmly. “But we are going to pretend that we are for the length of time it takes to get off this planet.”

"Oh," Cally said. She frowned. "Is that a custom of this planet?"

"I really hope not," Blake said.

"Should I have brought Jenna?" Cally asked. “We could pretend-”

"Yes!" Vila said.

" _No_ ," Blake said firmly. "You don't need to be any more distracted than you already are, Vila."

"Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous," Vila told Cally in a confiding tone.

"A mood you don't want to find me in," Blake said. He gestured down the corridor. "Shall we? Tyce's message this morning said she'd organised a reception for us - not exactly what I had in mind when I asked for our visit here to be _quiet_ _-_ "

"No, but it should give us exactly the right opportunity to meet the people we need in order to find Docholli," Cally said. "Leharn is there, as are representatives from the cyber-surgeons guild, the police." 

“You’re in contact with Leharn already?" Blake asked.

Cally looked surprised. "Of course. We're the only two Auronar in this system - our minds naturally sought each other out the moment I was in range. It's like a home-coming, even though we have never met." She said this simply without emotional appeal, but Blake suddenly felt the sadness of her situation. Cally had never asked to be taken back to her planet - and when he'd offered, she'd refused, but it must hurt to be away from people of her own kind. She must miss them more than Blake missed his slaughtered family and being able to talk to friends who shared his ideals, rather than people who put up with them because it was better than Cygnus Alpha.

"Probably a relief to get some decent conversation at last," Vila said, and he must have felt some of the same sadness as Blake did because his tone was compassionate, rather than jocular.

"Oh, I get plenty of _good_ conversation on the Liberator," Cally said teasingly. "After all, I speak to Jenna. And Zen. And- Actually, Blake, I think it’s this one," she said, and Blake turned to glance back down the corridor.

Cally had stopped in front of a large door. Unlike the one Blake had been heading towards, it didn’t have guards standing in front of it. There was just a numerical keypad to which they had not been given the code. Vila could probably get it open in ten minutes, but Cally didn’t hesitate as she typed in six digits and a confirmation. Another notification from Leharn presumably.

“Well, you did say you wanted our arrival to be secret,” she said in response to Blake’s questioning look. “ _That_ event,” she nodded towards the guarded door, “is the only one on the official rotas.”

"Zen!" Vila muttered as the doors opened. "His idea of good conversation is to tell us we’re about to fired on.”

“Would you rather he didn’t?” Blake asked.

The room behind the door was large and lavish, although presumably it was smaller and less lavish than the other room the guards had been standing in front of. There were about thirty people already inside, and two of them detached themselves from the groups they were talking to and converged on Blake as the door shut.

In a vast change from their first meeting, Sarkoff seemed to be delighted by the world and everything in it. He was resplendent in a deep-blue velvet jacket, piped with red. Lace protruded from his cuffs. Tyce, meanwhile, had exchanged her military jacket and trousers for a long, black ballgown. In her heels, she towered over Blake and her father.

“Ah, my thirteen million credits have arrived!” Sarkoff announced with a smile. “My dear boy, how are you?”

Blake grinned back as Sarkoff shook his hand. “Very well, thank you. And worth considerably more than thirteen million credits, if you believe the reports we keep picking up.”

“Oh, better and better,” Sarkoff said, turning towards his daughter to exchange a conspiratorial smile before looking back at Blake. “How much exactly?”

“Don’t tell him,” Tyce advised. She leant forward to kiss Blake’s cheek, her lips soft against his face, and he caught the scent of her perfume, which was surprisingly delicate. “It’s very good to see you again, Blake.”

“And you,” Blake said. “You remember Cally, of course,” he turned towards her, but she’d apparently already disappeared into the crowd, presumably to speak to Leharn. Blake blinked and recovered himself, turning to the other member of his crew. “But I don’t think you know my-"

“Vila!” someone screamed from across the room. “Oh my god, Vila!”

Vila’s mouth dropped open, and then he beamed and began moving towards the woman who had shouted. “Netti? I thought you were still on Earth!” The gap between them seemed to close more and more quickly, and then Netti flung herself into Vila’s arms. A hug became a kiss, the kiss turned into a longer kiss, Vila’s hands roaming to places that were not really acceptable places for his hands to roam in a public place

Blake could feel himself grimacing. Fortunately, this could probably be written off as distaste for a public scene, but he straightened his expression out into one of fond exasperation. “ _Security expert,”_ he said eventually, “Vila. Vila is my security expert. I don’t think you had the chance to get acquainted while you were on the Liberator.”

“If he carries on like that, we may not get the chance to this time either,” Sarkoff said. “Except, perhaps, with the back of his head.”

“He must know Netti through his security connection,” Tyce said. “She’s the head of our police force. Did they work together?"

“I think it’s more likely she arrested him,” Blake said.

“Well, clearly there are no hard feelings,” Sarkoff said.

“Not between the two of _them_ anyway,” Blake said, thinking about how much he would enjoy murdering Vila once they got back on the Liberator. As though on cue Tyce said,

“Didn’t you say you were bringing your boyfriend, Blake?”

“Yes,” Blake said, feeling his smile tighten as people began to move away from Vila and Netti, who were tugging at each other’s clothes. He’d known Vila for two years, _more_ than two years, and had never seen him so much as successfully ask a woman to dinner. How could they have found the one planet in the universe where beautiful women threw themselves at him _now_?

“Unfortunately, Avon had to stay on the ship,” Blake explained, thinking quickly. “There was a problem with the detector shield that only he could fix. He sends his apologies.”

Avon would never have to know, and what Avon didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Already Avon didn’t know that Blake sometimes imagined them growing old together: Avon still as irascible as ever, but deeply devoted to Blake and everything he stood for. Avon also didn’t know that Blake hadn’t really fantasised about anyone else in the last two years. Hopefully, he never would, as Blake considered it very inappropriate and was desperately trying to stop.

If he could have fallen for someone else, someone who disliked him less, Blake knew that life would be a lot easier. But each time he thought he was getting over it, Avon would do something ridiculously brave and stupid, and Blake would fall for him all over again.

At least, Blake thought ruefully, if someone asked what he saw in Avon, he would have a good answer.

“What a shame,” Tyce said. “Still, I'm _sure_ we can find enough to entertain and interest you here, even if we don’t find your man."

"Avon?" Blake said, and then quickly realised his mistake. "Oh, you mean Docholli, of course. Yes. Thank you."

Tyce linked her arm in Blake’s and tugged him towards the crowd. “Come on, let me show you around.”

*

It took almost two hours for Blake to be introduced to everyone. As Cally had promised, the crowd was composed exclusively of useful people. Many had already begun conducting their own investigations and presented Blake with print-outs of likely targets (men who answered Docholli's description), airport statistics, information about the black market, etc. Blake stepped on Vila’s foot as he passed the thief chatting with a group of policemen, but Vila seemed not to notice.

“I think we probably have enough information to get started,” Blake told Tyce in an undertone when they finally finished their circuit of the room and returned to the doorway. He wasn’t sure whether this was a party it would be rude to leave, or whether it just a tool he should use, but he couldn’t stand around and waste time if Docholli was here. “We might even be able to pick him up tonight, assuming Doctor Marshall is right about the man in his surgery.”

“All right. I’ll get the guns,” Tyce said, blessedly to the point.

They excused themselves. Tyce turned down the corridor the same way Blake, Cally, and Vila had come earlier in the day. Blake followed. Then, some noise made him glance back, instinctively checking if they were being followed. With horror he saw Avon emerging from in between the two guards who were still in front of the door to the other conference.

 _Surely_ , Blake thought in a panic, it must be someone who simply  _looked_ like Avon, but there was no mistaking Avon’s profile, not even from a distance - Blake had memorised it rather too well for that. There was also no mistaking the red leather suit that Avon had been wearing back on the ship, the one that looked as though he must have had to spray it on every morning. A difficult and undoubtedly tedious task for Avon, but one that, Blake (sometimes) admitted to himself, certainly yielded good results.

Though this was really not the time to dwell on them.

Without explaining himself to Tyce or even checking to see whether she was watching, Blake hurried down the corridor. For the moment, all thoughts of Docholli and Star One were out of his head. At _this_ moment, the only thing that mattered was to get to Avon before Tyce noticed he’d arrived and asked him what Blake was like in bed.

Avon had been glowering at the guards, but he looked up as Blake reached him. “Ah, Blake,” he said, tone dry, “I’ve been looking-”

 _“Get out of the corridor,”_ Blake hissed, and pushed him in the direction of the nearest doorway. Miraculously, the door opened without needing a code or a palmprint. Blake fell back against it gratefully as it swung closed behind him. He breathed out through his nostrils, eyes shut, and then opened his eyes again to glower at Avon. 

“ _What_ are you doing here?” 

The room they were in looked like a library or a study - the walls were lined with bookcases in dark wood, and lights burned in gold-mounted globes hanging from the ceiling. They picked up the tawny highlights in Avon's hair. 

“I don’t know,” Avon said. “You pulled me in here - I assumed you had a reason, though I admit I’m not overly surprised to find you acted without thinking about it.”

“What are you doing on this _planet_ , Avon?” Blake said irritably.

“You may not have noticed it, but your communicators aren’t working,” Avon said without changing his tone. “I doubt the teleport is working either. It’s probably something to do with the weapon-disabling field they have here - I haven’t quite worked it out yet.”

Blake raised his teleport bracelet to his mouth and thumbed the communicator button. “Jenna? Jenna, this is Blake. Do you copy? ...  If you can hear me, bring me up.” He waited a moment, eyes fixed on Avon’s scowling face, and eventually lowered his wrist. “You’re right - they’re not working.”

“No,” Avon said. Suddenly he grinned. “I thought that perhaps we could just leave you here, but Jenna was rather adamantly opposed to that suggestion.”

Blake chose not to respond to this. The idea that Avon might abandon him at any moment was a joke that Avon seemed to think was funny, despite nobody else ever laughing.

“How long do you think it will take you to fix the bracelets?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Avon said. “I’ve only just arrived. Perhaps a few hours, but it might take longer than that.”

Blake pressed one of his fists against his lips in exasperation. He forced his brain to try and think of some way out of the mess he’d made of this expedition, but no obvious solution beyond hiding Avon in a cupboard presented itself.

“And you can’t get back to the Liberator?” he asked. 

“Not until I fix the bracelets, no,” Avon said. “Why? Is that a problem?”

“ _No_ ,” Blake said through his hand.

It would have to be the truth, he decided, as Avon stared at him, clearly unconvinced.

“Or rather, not a problem exactly - a slight inconvenience.” _P_ _art_ of the truth, anyway. Avon still didn’t need to know about the ‘growing old’ fantasies. “I’m afraid I had to tell Tyce that you and I were an item. I _thought_ you were safe on the ship."

Avon blinked. “You told Tyce-”

“I think you heard,” Blake said darkly. “It was supposed to be Vila, but he seems to have discovered a long-lost girlfriend or something among the police force here. It’s nothing personal,” he lied. “I just... didn’t want to upset her, or her father. Both of whom are apparently waiting with champagne and dinner on hand, ready to pounce the moment I say I’m single.”

“You can't be serious,” Avon said. At Blake’s aggrieved expression, he began laughing. “And Vila agreed to play along with this little charade, did he?”

“In exchange for a week on Del Ten,” Blake said. He considered the matter. “Actually I suppose the only _good_ thing about this turn of events is that now we don’t need to waste time going there. We can just get the location of Star One from Docholli, and go after it. Assuming that Tyce will still help me once I tell her the truth. I wouldn't blame her if she changed her mind - and I wouldn’t follow someone I knew had fabricated an entire backstory just to get out of dating my father. She might even think I lied about being _gay_ -”

“And... of course... you _are_ gay?” Avon said, the intonation only just making it a question.

“I know I am,” Blake retorted. He paced away, and then realised this made him look weak and turned back. “Look, don’t worry. I will tell her we aren’t really together. I’ll tell her I _lied_. Happy?”

“Well, no,” Avon said. “Not really. That doesn’t sound like a good plan at all. You said yourself that she might not help you if she finds out you’ve lied to her.”

“I don’t have any better ideas," Blake snapped.

“Why not offer me the same terms you gave to Vila?” Avon said. “I believe I’d accept. In fact, I’m certain of it.”

Blake gaped at him. He wanted to ask, _You’re willing to pretend actual affection for_ me _?_ Instead he said,

“ _You_ want to go to Del Ten? I can’t really imagine you sunbathing. Or frolicking with the dancing girls Vila keeps going on about.”

“The idea isn’t entirely unappealing,” Avon said. “But you’re right, it’s not exactly my top priority. What I want is - control of the Liberator. For a week. Immediately.”

“No,” Blake said instinctively.

“Why not?” Avon asked. “It amounts to the same thing. You were, after all, willing to make the deal with Vila.”

“Because I had no other _choice_ ,” Blake said. “And because Del Ten is only a waste of time, it’s not actively harmful.”

“Not like attacking Space Command HQ?” Avon said.

Blake snorted, about to list the crimes that he expected Avon (whom he loved but not blindly) might want to use the Liberator to commit. "Not like"- and then he stopped at the sound of the door handle rattling behind him.

He sprang away from the door, as though it had burned him. This was it, he thought in a blinding flash of panic. They were going to be discovered, and worse - they were going to be discovered arguing about how Avon obviously wasn’t his boyfriend. In whatever this room was - perhaps it was a room they shouldn’t even be in.

He looked in resignation at Avon, and almost stepped back as he realised Avon was much closer than he remembered. Then Avon’s hands were around his face, pulling him down into a kiss.

Blake felt his hands wavering in the air above Avon’s arms, but Avon wasn’t wasting any time. He’d already unzipped the front of Blake’s shirt and pushed it back over his shoulders. He’d clearly decided to uphold Blake’s cover, whether Blake agreed to it or not. His hands returned for the fastenings of Blake’s trousers, and Blake decided to hell with it. He pulled Avon into him with an arm around Avon’s waist, one of Avon’s legs sliding between Blake’s own, so they were pressed together against the wall, as close as possible to each other.

Blake could feel himself getting hard, but he could always blame that on the excitement of nearly being caught. Avon must be experiencing something of that sort as well, because, even through the leather, Blake could feel that Avon was just as aroused as he was. It felt astonishingly good. Avon kept grinding his hips forward - for the look of the thing presumably. His tongue probably didn’t need to be in Blake’s mouth, but for the moment all Blake could think was that Avon couldn’t really object if _he_ thrust his tongue past Avon’s lips and pushed him back into his own mouth. Avon made a surprised but pleased-sounding noise as this happened and pulled Blake's arse closer with a hand that was actually touching Blake’s skin beneath his underwear.

 _This is going to get out of hand soon,_ Blake thought. _If it hasn’t already._ Then he thought, _Hang on, someone should have stopped us by now._

He cracked an eye open, and scanned as much of the room as he could see without moving. There was a very familiar shape hovering over the desk by the fire. Blake scowled and pulled away from Avon. “ _Vila!_ ”

“Don’t mind me,” Vila said, glancing back at Blake with a twinkle in his eyes.

Blake felt briefly embarrassed, exposed, wrong-footed, worried for his command - and then he saw the drawers to the desk were open.

“Vila, are you _stealing_ from Sarkoff?”

“No?” Vila suggested. “I was just looking,” he said as Blake strode over to him. “And, yes, all right, taking a few things away with me to look at later,” he admitted as Blake held out his hand. The hand didn't move. Vila sighed and pulled a gold-rimmed notebook, a pair of cufflinks, and a paperweight out of his trouser pocket and put them in Blake’s outstretched hand.

“And the rest,” Blake said darkly.

“What rest?” Vila said. “That’s it, I promise.”

“It had _better_ be,” Blake told him.

“Check the inner pocket in his jacket,” Avon advised, and Vila sighed and pulled out a watch.

“That’s not from the drawer,” he explained. “It’s from the party. Couldn’t resist.”

Blake rubbed his free hand over his face. “Well, you’d better go and put it back. And then meet me back in the corridor - we’ve got a few leads on Docholli's whereabouts.”

“Oh,” Vila said without enthusiasm. “Great. Listen, can’t I stay at the party? In case he turns up, I mean.”

“In the unlikely event that Docholli turns up at the Lindorian palace, I’m sure Sarkoff’s guards can handle it,” Blake said. “Get Cally, and meet me in ten minutes.”

“That was pathetic,” Avon said as Vila passed him. “Even for you.”

“Look who’s talking,” Vila said with a smirk. He glanced meaningfully at Blake, who realised his shirt was still unzipped and hastened to do it up again. “Enjoying stepping into my shoes, are we, Avon?”

With a snarl, Avon shoved him the remaining feet out into the corridor and shut the door on him, keeping one hand on the handle to make sure it didn’t open again. His eyes were bright and his perfectly sculpted lips were bruised with how fiercely Blake had kissed him. There was still a definite bulge in his trousers.

“Well, Blake? What now?”

Blake turned away so Avon wouldn’t see the haze of lust in his eyes. Hopefully Avon would just think he was wrestling with his conscience. He put Sarkoff's things back in their drawer and shut it again. Perhaps he _should_ be wrestling with his conscience, he realised. It wasn’t fair to let Avon do this if he didn’t know that it wasn’t an act for both of them.

“I’ll do it for seven days’ control of the Liberator,” Avon said, close to Blake’s ear. “Taking effect immediately after we leave Lindor so you don’t have a chance to back out.” He must have come up close behind Blake as he sometimes did. Blake imagined Avon’s teeth gently closing over the lobe of his ear, and shut his eyes. It was probably the wrong thing to do, but -

“Fine,” he said with heavy control. He turned towards Avon, who was indeed only inches away. “But I’ll be watching you every minute of those seven days. If you do anything that endangers the crew or our mission to find Star One, I _will_ intervene.”

“I didn’t really expect otherwise,” Avon said. He held out a hand, which seemed to Blake a ludicrous formal gesture given that Avon had been rutting against him only moments ago. They shook, Blake keeping his expression hard and neutral.

“All right,” Avon said. “Well, I suppose we should try and find Docholli, then.”

*

“Well, that was a complete waste of time,” Blake raged as he slammed the door to the room he and Avon were apparently supposed to share.

They’d followed up eight separate leads, none of which had borne fruit, and now it was late in the evening. Everyone had been too tired to keep searching. Blake had wanted to continue looking by himself, but Tyce had pulled his gun away from him and Blake had known it would be foolish to go on unarmed. Going on alone wasn't a particularly bright idea, either. And the truth was that Blake _was_ tired, but he couldn't bear the thought that Docholli might be escaping while he _slept_.

“Not necessarily,” Avon said, and Blake glanced at him, having lost track of the conversation in the whirl of his own thoughts. “It was not necessarily a waste of time,” Avon explained as he sat down at the desk next to the bed. “After all, we have ruled out a substantial number of incorrect data points.”

“We could have done that a lot sooner if the people on this planet could distinguish one bearded man from another,” Blake retorted.

“When you rely on other people, you will always have to accept their limitations,” Avon said.

“Thank you for that philosophical outlook, Avon,” Blake said sarcastically. He flung himself down on the sofa and tugged moodily at his lower lip. “I suppose I should apply that to you as well, should I?”

“In what way?” Avon asked, turning around in his chair to look back at Blake

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Blake said, feeling more and more offended by Avon’s calm as the moments passed. “We’re supposed to be in a fictional relationship, _not_ that anyone would notice if they hadn’t be told.”

“I didn’t deny that we were together,” Avon said. “Not even when asked direct questions.”

“No,” Blake said. “But that, Avon, is all you did. If the idea of pretending to like me was so disgusting to you then you shouldn’t have forced me to agree to it.”

“ _This_ is how I act in a relationship,” Avon snapped. “I have never become a different person simply because I've become romantically involved with someone. What did you expect, Blake? Endearments? Hand-holding? That isn’t me. And if you didn’t want to date me, as I assume you don’t, then perhaps you shouldn’t have told everyone that you _were_.”

It was like a slap in the face. And unfortunately a very justified slap, as most of Avon’s barbs were. Blake let his face fall into his hands and tried to get himself under control. He felt foolish and tired and still angry.

“I’m sorry,” he said, forcing himself to look up at Avon. “That was uncalled for and unfair. I’m just - _frustrated_. Star One never seems to get any closer. No matter what I do. And the more I delay, the more unjust laws are passed, the more planets are doped with pacification drugs, the more innocent people are murdered because they knew or were acquainted with someone who once dared to say something against the Administration."

“I know that,” Avon said. “That’s the only reason I haven’t walked out. That and the fact that, unlike Vila, I’m not willing to throw away my fee for one moment of passion. Are we done here? I should probably get back to fixing the teleport bracelets.”

Blake nodded, and Avon turned back to the desk.

Blake felt absurdly, ridiculously like crying, which he knew was almost certainly a bad idea while Avon was here. Avon had nearly ripped him apart after Gan’s death - prodding and poking at the wound, counting the number of followers Blake had left and threatening to leave even more regularly than usual. A show of further weakness could destroy Blake forever.

Unless Avon exhibited one of those rare flashes of empathy, kindness and support that he sometimes showed towards Blake. Shortly before Gan had died, in the empty room that should have housed the Federation's central computer, Avon had been kind. Oh, his voice had been harsh, but he'd done what Blake needed him to do, which was physically support him and not pull away from Blake's grip on his jacket. Although Blake tried not to think about it, he did sometimes wonder whether the absence of the computers at Central Control had affected him more than Gan's death. The two were so thoroughly intertwined that it was almost impossible to separate them. At least, Blake hoped so - he had some idea of what Avon might say about it.

His eyes burned. Fortunately there was an ensuite attached to their room. Blake got up and walked into the bathroom, without returning the glance Avon gave him as he passed, and stood under the hot water until he no longer felt in danger of weeping. In fact, he felt almost calm. He had overreacted earlier. They still had plenty of very good leads. They would find Docholli tomorrow, or the next day. In fact, now he was in a better frame of mind he wasn’t sure how he could have behaved so badly. The fight against the Federation must be wearing him away, day by day. He needed to find Star One and end this, once and for all, before it destroyed him.

Somebody had left two knee-length robes hanging on the back of the door, and Blake pulled one down and shrugged it on over his damp skin. He belted the robe, and opened the door back into the main room. Once again, Avon looked up from his work as Blake passed him, his gaze sliding mockingly down the open vee of the robe where Blake had left it loose, before he turned quickly back to what he was doing.

 _Ah_ , Blake thought as he crossed back to the sofa, his heartbeat quickening again as he yanked the robe closed and tied it more tightly. Yes, that was probably it. He was _particularly_ frustrated today because of this ridiculous situation with Avon. He’d had to spend all day not finding Docholli  _while_ pretending to be in a relationship with Avon. That would be enough to make anyone irritable.

He was tired and wanted to sleep, but the idea of sleeping while Avon was awake and could see and pass judgement on his snoring or awkward facial expressions was unappealing, if not actually impossible. Instead, Blake cast around for something else to occupy him until Avon abandoned his work. 

Along with the robes, the bed, sofa, desk and a selection of Blake’s clothes that had been teleported down that morning, the room was also furnished with a number of interesting looking books.

Did Sarkoff provide these for all of his guests? Blake wondered as he scanned the gold-embossed wording on their spines. Or had the books been put in specially for his visit because Sarkoff knew he would like them? Smiling, Blake removed a book on natural history and returned to the sofa.

It had been some years since he’d held an actual book in his hands - perhaps almost ten. The last time had been late into his university career, but apparently he still had the muscle memory of turning the pages. He did so carefully, so as not to damage this object that had survived several hundred years, but not so carefully that he couldn’t lose himself in what he was doing.

At some point he laughed, and Avon said,

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Blake said, because it was ultimately trivial. Avon didn’t need to know, and might not appreciate the joke anyway. Then he changed his mind. He and Avon had very similar senses of humour - mostly, anyway. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to use that to try and make the situation easier, rather than give Avon another example of a time Blake hadn’t told him what he was thinking.

“I’m reading about the Galapagos tortoise,” Blake told him. “Apparently,” he said, leaning back over the arm of the sofa to look at Avon, “it took more than three hundred years to give it a scientific name. Do you know why?”

“A lack of imagination,” Avon said cagily, as though waiting for the joke to turn on him.

“No,” Blake said. He began to laugh again. “They were just _unbelievably_ delicious. Each time the sailors, and the scientists, tried to bring them back to London they’d eat them and arrive back in Europe empty handed. For three _hundred_ years.”

“That must have been very frustrating,” Avon said. “For the scientists back in London, I mean,” and Blake, in a good humour now, shook his head.

“Presumably."

“I hadn’t heard that story before,” Avon said. “Although I do know that the name they eventually assigned to the animal was Chelonoidis nigra.”

Blake felt himself smiling. “You're interested in natural history?”

“To some extent,” Avon said. “It’s not my speciality.”

Would it be too strange to suggest they talk more about the subject later? Blake wondered. Perhaps over coffee, or dinner. Or while they were running for their lives.

Perhaps it would have been a normal thing to say at another time, just not while Avon was pretending to be his live-in lover. Or perhaps this was the perfect time.

Blake was used to quickly weighing the options and knowing what he thought fairly quickly. He trusted his instincts. He didn’t really know what to do with this indecision over something that was incredibly minor, really. Eventually he decided it had been too long since Avon’s last comment and he should just let the matter drop.

“You worked on the Aquitar project, didn’t you, Blake?” Avon said, out of nowhere, seconds after Blake had decided the conversation was over.

“You know I did,” Blake said, and hurriedly put the book down so he could catch the teleport bracelet Avon had thrown at him.

“What do you make of that? I know it’s reacting to the weapons field, but I can’t work out how. It doesn't even turn on any more.”

Blake blinked to bring the tiny components into focus. Then he handed the bracelet back to Avon. “You’ve soldered the comm function to the wrong terminal, I’m afraid.”

“Idiotic,” Avon said in disgust. He put the bracelet back on the desk and rubbed his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of one hand. “All right. I’m obviously not going to manage anything else useful tonight. Do you mind if I sleep in one of your shirts? I didn’t bring anything with me, and I don’t much fancy the idea of sleeping in my clothes, especially since I’ll have to wear them again tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Blake said neutrally, trying not to imagine what Avon would look like out of his usual neck-to-ankle covering, what he would look like wearing Blake’s shirt. Was he playing on foregoing trousers completely? Best not to think about it. 

The bathroom door shut and then opened. Blake kept his eyes very firmly on the book in front of him, though he noticed Avon’s trousers folded over the back of the chair with his jacket. Fortunately, Blake told himself firmly, he was used to ignoring Avon when Avon wanted to provoke him. This new situation shouldn't be a problem.

“I suppose you want the sofa,” he said, continuing not to look.

“Not really,” Avon said. “Should I?”

“Ah. No, sorry, it was Vila who I made that deal with, wasn’t it?” Blake said, remembering.

“I _can_ sleep on the sofa,” Avon said.

“No, no, no, it’s all right,” Blake said. “I know about your back. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“...Thank you,” Avon said after a brief pause. It sounded strange, and it was only as Blake switched off the light, plunging the two of them into darkness, that he realised it was because every other time he’d heard Avon say those words they had been sarcastic. This time Avon was genuinely grateful to him - he had done something right by Avon, at last.

He smiled to himself and tried to settle back on the sofa.

Unfortunately, what had been a very comfortable place to sit or even lounge earlier was not at all comfortable for a six-foot man trying to stretch out and go to sleep. Blake turned over to one side, then the other, then into a more diagonal position, which almost caused him to slip onto the floor.

“Do you want to swap?” Avon’s voice said wryly in the darkness as Blake fumbled with the cushions in an attempt to stay on the sofa.

“That would make my sacrifice at _little_ pointless,” Blake told him with as much dignity as he could muster.

“Just get over here,” Avon said. “We can share the bed. Better that, than you _fidgeting_ all night.”

“It’s really not-”

“ _Blake_ ,” Avon snapped, and reluctantly Blake got to his feet and walked over to the bed. He thought about suggesting that he just sleep on the floor, but realised that if he did that then he would presumably also have to explain why he didn’t want to sleep in a bed with Avon.

Backed into a corner, he sat down on the bed, and then slid in under the sheets - next to Avon, who (Blake saw) was wearing his white shirt, open wide at the neck.

It was a hard bed, but there were numerous pillows, which was the way Blake liked beds in general when he had his choice. The beds on the Liberator were not worth speaking of, really, which made sense when you thought about it. Having met the Altas, Blake was surprised they didn’t sleep standing up in cupboards for maximum efficiency.

He could hear Avon breathing, and worse - smell the heady scent of Avon, just a few inches away. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on Docholli, Star One, how many places they needed to visit tomorrow, or the sleeping arrangements in SpaceWorld, Blake could feel himself getting an erection. Would it be possible to sneak out to the bathroom, get rid of it and then come back with Avon none the wiser? No, obviously not. Avon would smell it on him, would know what had happened and why. The only thing to do was wait until it went away and then try and sleep.

Blake let his breathing deepen and forced his mind to wander to subjects he found interesting, but not erotic. Lindor’s reconstruction programme after the near civil war, and its budding alliance with Auron. Cally’s budding friendship with Leharn. How useful it would be to have two of the Auronar on board, since they could communicate with each other at great distance without the need for electronic equipment, which was showing itself to be very fallible at the moment. Whether Cally would want to stay here - she couldn’t go home, but there was nothing stopping her from staying on Lindor. Whether Vila would want to stay here, if Netti asked him to. The two of them had been part of Blake’s group this afternoon, and it was probably their easy, playful affection that had made Blake so frustrated with the Avon situation. Perhaps Netti would come with them - she was a master of unarmed combat, and had already proved her worth by taking out three large dockyard thugs in the time it had taken Blake to knock the remaining one unconscious with a refuse can.

Despite what Avon sometimes said about him, Blake liked to talk his ideas through with other people. His body was under control again now, so it seemed safe to risk it. He turned onto his side and let his eyes flicker open.

“Avon, are you-?" His eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now and he could see Avon quite clearly. "Ah."

“ _What_?” Avon snapped as Blake trailed off. His expression was vicious, but he’d only just managed to pull it into place. When Blake had first opened his eyes, Avon’s face had been soft. He’d been watching Blake sleep, and his expression had been not vicious, but one of longing.

Blake could feel his heart-rate rising again. He hadn’t realised this meant something to Avon too. How _could_ he have been so stupid? That kiss earlier- how bright Avon’s eyes had been-

“ _Goodnight_ , Blake,” Avon said sharply and made to turn over to face the wall.

“ _Avon_ ,” Blake said, reaching out to stop him with a hand on his arm. “Please.” Avon’s eyes glared at him, like the eyes of a frightened animal. “Please, will you just let me-” Blake began. And then he decided he could probably do without words this time, and kissed Avon gently on his perfectly sculpted lips.

He was about to draw away when Avon opened his mouth, kissing back just as gently, as though they were both afraid that anything more hurried would bring them both back to their senses. Eventually Blake risked putting a hand to Avon’s hair, which was fine and silky beneath his fingers. He cradled Avon’s skull in his hand, and then, when Avon didn’t move away, slid his hand down Avon’s body, only remembering that Avon wasn’t wearing trousers as his hand met the warm curve of Avon’s arse. He felt Avon shudder against him as he traced around the uppermost cheek with his fingertips, sliding deeper and deeper into the cleft of Avon’s arse each time he passed.

Avon’s breath caught as the tip of Blake’s finger finally brushed his anus, and Blake pulled away from the kiss to see Avon’s face transformed by delight. He had always been a striking man, but now he looked ten years younger: his eyes soft and shining beneath his long eyelashes and there were long dimples around his mouth. Blake stroked a finger along one of them, the longest the deepest, and leant in to kiss him again.

“Avon, I-” he began against Avon’s lips, meaning to tell Avon everything. That he’d been in love with Avon for years; that he felt the times when Avon supported or rescued him were sometime all that was keeping him going, just as Avon’s dissent challenged him to prove Avon wrong; that he thought they should go for coffee and discuss history and the Latin names for things.

“Don’t talk, Blake,” Avon said, reverting instantly to the cold, sarcastic computer-expert Blake had nevertheless fallen in love with on the Liberator. “You’ll only ruin it.”

“ _I’ll_ ruin it?” Blake said.

“Try not to prove my point so quickly,” Avon said. “There are, after all, better things your mouth could be doing.”

“Kissing you, perhaps,” Blake suggested and felt himself relax again when Avon closed the distance between them, his hands reaching for the ties of Blake’s robe and pulling them open as his tongue raided Blake’s mouth again. Not one to be beaten lightly, Blake pushed back, licking the roof of Avon’s mouth and the tip of his tongue, and then backed off again to let Avon’s tongue return and do the same to him again.

It would drive him mad not to be able to fuck Avon tonight, Blake thought headily, but if the kissing would only continue then it would still be one of the greatest experiences of his life. Avon kissed like he was scoring points in a game, but a game that he cared deeply about winning. In order to keep hold of his victory, Avon shifted his weight slightly, so he was lying on Blake rather than lying on his side. Suddenly Blake could feel the hot insistent shape of Avon’s erection pressing against his thigh, could feel how much Avon wanted him. He tried to shift down the bed slightly so he could bring his own cock into contact with Avon’s, and then quite unexpectedly Avon wrapped a hand around Blake's cock and jerked it hard.

Blake gasped, half in shock, half with the sensation. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“I feel like I’ve wasted the last two years,” Avon said. Then he frowned, as if his brain had only just caught up with his mouth. “I can’t believe I just said that. I knew talking would ruin it. Please pretend you didn’t hear that.”

“Hear what?” Blake said, though his heartbeat had stumbled at Avon's confession. The shared fiction, though, caused Avon to grin. 

“Thank you. And now I’d better think of a way of shutting myself up. I wonder what that should be…”

“ _Well_ ,” Blake began as Avon slid down his body.

“It’s all right. I think I’ve got it,” Avon said and Blake felt Avon press a kiss against the tip of his cock. Blake felt a thrill run through his entire body, and then Avon opened his lips, taking the head of Blake’s cock into the warm, wetness of his mouth.

For a moment, Blake realised he’d forgotten how to think, and then Avon pulled back. Blake could hear the sound of his own breathing harshly in the darkness, and then Avon was pressing shivery kisses down his shaft towards the base and he lost track of his breathing again. Surprisingly gentle fingers cupped his balls, and Avon’s tongue flicked into the crease where Blake’s leg met his groin, then back up the shaft of his cock again. This time when he reached the head, Avon tipped over and Blake felt first the head and then the next few inches of his cock disappearing into Avon’s mouth again.

He clenched one hand in the sheets and bit down on the thumb of the other to stop himself telling Avon how good it felt as Avon expertly sucked him off.

 _Avon_ , Blake thought as dark eyes met his from down near his groin. Avon _is fucking me, Avon is, Avon is, Avon, Avon, Avon. Oh fuck,_ fuck-

Somehow the hand that Blake had clenched in the sheets was now clenched in Avon’s hair. Blake kept him there as the orgasm crashed through his body, and then as it faded he forced his fingers to unbend and let Avon go as he caught his breath.

“Mm,” Avon said, sliding back up to shoulder height and pressing a salty kiss to Blake’s mouth. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Blake felt as if the universe was making and unmaking itself – everything that he’d known to be true a moment ago had become its opposite. Rather than tell Avon how grateful and bemused he was, he stuck to sarcasm.

“You realise you’re talking again?”

“A bad habit,” Avon said. He found Blake’s right hand and brought it down to wrap around his own erection, which was weeping slickly from the tip. “You should probably distract me before I do it again.”

“I see what I can do, shall I?” Blake said, rubbing his palm around the head of Avon’s cock to pick up the damp pre-come, and then tightening his grip the shaft. Something told him that Avon would want it fast and rough. If he didn’t, he could say something, but all Avon seemed to be capable of at the moment was a series of breathy moans in the rough vicinity of Blake’s mouth. He let Blake turn that into a kiss, the inside of his mouth still full of the taste of Blake’s come, though his concentration was clearly on the fist around his cock. His nails dug half moons of sharp but exhilarating pain into Blake’s arms as Blake moved away from Avon’s mouth to press kisses over his chin and down his neck. He sucked hard at the point that Avon’s pulse shuddered in his throat. Avon’s grip tightened further, and then he gasped and stiffened and Blake felt the dampness of Avon’s semen spatter onto his leg.

Blake kissed Avon’s forehead, then the tip of his nose, and finally his mouth.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while, too,” Avon told him confidingly, and closed his eyes with a smile.

“You’re not going to clean this up?” Blake asked.

“It’s your leg,” Avon pointed out. Blake sighed without ill-humour and reached across him for the tissue box on the desk. He wiped his leg, pulled the robe off and dropped it onto the floor and got back into bed. Avon seemed to already be asleep.

*

Blake woke first. For a moment he couldn’t remember why he felt good, but unusual. He had an erection, but he often did on waking, so that wasn't it. Then Avon made a strange, quick snoring noise beside him, and Blake remembered that he was in bed, naked, with Avon, and that they’d spent a good portion of the previous night having sex.

Now, that had either been a very bad idea or a very good one. Avon himself would have probably pointed out that Blake often got those two states confused, meaning that most of Blake's ideas were bad ideas. Presumably he had a view on _this_  - at least Blake certainly _hoped_ he would. To be treated with Avon's indifference would be the worst of all possible worlds, although perhaps that was a safe thought that Blake could only hang onto as Avon was still asleep and not sneering with disgust at the thought that yesterday he had sucked Blake's cock and seemed to enjoy it.

Blake's eyes flickered shut as his brain connected that thought directly to his groin. He could almost feel the damp pressure of Avon's mouth on him again. His own hand had drifted down towards his cock, ready to turn that remembered pressure into reality, but Blake wrenched it away. _That_ was unforgivably inappropriate, and would definitely go down badly if Avon woke up and saw him at it.

He got out of bed hurriedly and shut himself in the bathroom. At some point he would have to talk to Avon about what had happened, but it was safe to say that this conversation would be less awkward if they both had clothes on and neither of them had a noticeable erection.

Blake turned the shower on and stood under the water. It was probably terrible of him and unwise, but he let himself remember the night before as he brought himself off. The last cock he’d held had been Avon’s. Avon had kissed and clung to him as he’d shuddered his way through orgasm. In the shower Blake imagined that the hand on his cock was Avon’s and the cock in his hand was Avon’s. The water broke off his trembling body as Blake tried not to gasp and wake the real Avon, while in his head Avon gripped him hard, the way he liked, and whispered obscenities and endearments in his ear. Blake bit his lip as he came to stifle the groan.

As the arousal faded away, he pressed his forehead to the tiles. He needed to stop thinking about Avon now. They’d only come to this planet to find Docholli, after all. He let his breathing steady, and turned off the water.

Avon was still asleep when Blake returned to the bedroom. He looked vaguely ridiculous, actually, with his mouth open and his usually smooth hair softened by static. Blake felt a rush of fondness for him. As he dressed, he found his eyes continually straying to Avon’s unconscious form and his mouth tugging into a smile. This absurd situation had given him this as well - a chance to see Avon without any of his usual defences. Some of those defences were attractive in and of themselves, of course, but it was nice to see what was under them for a change.

Rather than shatter the illusion, Blake opened the door quietly and slipped soundlessly out into the corridor. Although he needed to talk to Avon, it would be unfair to do it while he was dressed, and Avon was half-naked and fuzzy with sleep.

 _A fine excuse for cowardice,_ Blake thought to himself dryly. He almost forced himself to turn back just to prove himself wrong, but Avon wouldn’t thank him for it. He shook himself and headed down the corridor to the breakfast room.

The others (Tyce, Cally and Leharn, Vila and Netti) were already there and dressed, which surprised Blake. Usually he was the first up, and pacing impatiently while he waited for the rest of the crew to drag themselves out of bed. He supposed he must have gone to sleep much later than the rest of them, after the argument, the shower, the reading, and the - yes, well.

He sat down opposite Cally, who was eating some sort of pale fruit that Blake had never seen before.

“Lindorian fruit?” Blake asked as he helped himself to sausages and bacon.

Cally smiled. “No,” she said. “Auronar.”

“I brought a cutting with me the first time I came here,” Leharn explained. “As part of my bribe - I mean,” he smiled, “ambassadorial gifts.” He was sitting to Cally’s left (Vila was on her right), and his braids, Blake saw, were plaited with different colours today than they had been the day before. “Sarkoff was very gracious, but I think he preferred the books. They are the same as they were ten years ago, however, while the seedling has grown and bears fruit.”

“That sounds like an Auronar saying,” Blake said with a grin.

“Not everything that sounds wise is a saying,” Cally said.

“That sounds like one too,” Blake said.

“Enjoying our hospitality?” Tyce asked.

“Mm,” Blake said, swallowing the food in his mouth. “Definitely, thank you. I slept very well.”

“With Avon?” Vila said slyly.

“ _Yes_ , Avon slept well, too,” Blake said. He kept his tone pleasant but aimed a hard glare at Vila, which he hoped Tyce and Leharn would miss. “In fact, he’s still asleep.”

“You probably tired him out,” Vila said, still grinning. “I know what you two get up to behind closed doors.”

Blake aimed a kick at his ankles.

“ _Ow_ ,” Cally said.

"Sorry," Blake said with a grimace. "I was aiming for Vila."

"Don’t worry, I'll get him," Netti said. She swiped playfully at Vila's head. " _Be_ nice."

"Or what?" Vila said. "He's already backed out of the dancing girls. So, there’s not really much Blake can do to me now, except expose me to more business as usual – danger and certain death and all that. And he's planning to do that after breakfast anyway."

" _What_ dancing girls?" Netti said dangerously.

"Yes, _what_ dancing girls?" Vila demanded of Blake as though he'd never heard anything about it and was equally horrified. "You revolutionaries are sick, you know that? Sick. _Ow,_ " he said as Netti swiped at him again.

"So tell me more about this danger and certain death, boss," she said to Blake. "Where are we looking today?"

Blake outlined the list of next most likely targets. Then Leharn, Netti and Tyce, who knew more about the lay of the land in Lindor than he did, began dismantling that list. Apparently, nobody could hide in the Gerran pub because they had a psychic behind the bar. Equally, Blake had considered it unlikely that Docholli would be in the Fin Flats over in the next continent because there would be nobody for him to treat, but Tyce pointed out that there was now a fast train that came into the Lindorian capital every day, so people did commute in and it wasn’t totally inconceivable.

Although they were arguing and arguing against him, Blake found it all quite pleasant. Everyone was arguing that they should do something practical to further the revolution – they just disagreed about what it should be.

Vila was in the middle of changing his argument about "visiting all the bars, anyway, you know - just in case," to an argument about not believing in psychics who hung around in _bars_ (“come on - a couple of drunks forget they already told their life story to the nice lady and then act surprised when she tells it back to them”) when Avon finally graced them with his presence. He sat in the free space between Blake and Tyce, presumably because there weren’t that many other empty chairs, and managed to enter the conversation quickly and effortlessly by pointing out that not everyone was suited to being a fake psychic. Take Vila, for example. He’d have to try very hard to look like he knew everything, when nobody who’d spoken to him believed he knew anything at all.

 _Avon is wearing your shirt,_ Cally’s voice said in Blake’s head.

Blake had, in fact, noticed this almost immediately. It was the deep-brown shirt today, worn with Avon’s red leather trousers. The autumnal colouring helped pick up the highlights in his hair again, making it look deep mahogany, rather than black. The shirt looked good on him. It also made it very obvious where he'd spent the night.

Blake gave Cally what he hoped was a non-committal shrug, as though to say _Yes, obviously, but he didn’t bring any of his own clothes with him so what did you expect?_ He'd warned her the day before that the plan had changed, so she knew that Avon had taken Vila's place in what should have been a completely practical and unemotional transaction. Although Blake and Avon _had_ in fact had sex the night before, as far as _Cally_ was concerned, Avon was only pretending to be in a relationship with Blake. There should be no need for discussion. If he thought that hard enough, perhaps it would actually happen. And perhaps the Federation would disband and hand over power to the people.

 _He looks very comfortable_ , Cally's voice said again in Blake's head. _Almost as though he isn't pretending at all._ Her eyes were sparkling.

Blake raised an eyebrow, which he hoped implied polite confusion as to her meaning. If he'd been Auronar, he would have projected, 'Go away, Cally. This situation is already awkward enough'. Without obviously abandoning his breakfast, he began hunting in his pockets for a pen and notepad.

 _Did you sleep with him?_ Cally's voice asked and Blake almost choked on his juice.

"Are you all right?" Avon said next to him. Blake noticed, as Avon turned towards him, that there was what was obviously a lovebite on Avon's throat. He hoped to God that Vila hadn't seen it and that Cally didn't know what it was.

"Fine," Blake said gruffly, as in his head Cally said,

 _You did! Oh, Blake, I'm so_ pleased _for you. I did think that something like this would ha-_

"Ow," Cally said out loud. She rubbed her shin. " _Blake_."

" _That_ time, I was aiming for you," Blake told her with a smile.

When everyone had finished or nearly finished eating, Blake split them into two groups. The Auronar would have to be separated, so the two groups could talk to each other easily. Netti and Tyce had the best knowledge of the local area so it also made sense to split them up, too, and frankly Blake didn't think he had the patience to deal with a whole day stuck with either Vila and his girlfriend or Cally and her insinuations. He also didn't want to leave _Avon_ with them, or have Avon as part of his own group, which would mean spending another day pretending to be Avon's boyfriend before they'd reached an agreement about how to treat the previous night's events. 

Fortunately Avon solved that problem for him by pointing out that it would make more sense for him to stay and work on the teleport bracelets.

"Perhaps," Vila added, "it would make more sense for me to stay and help him."

"All right," Blake said to Avon, feeling a faint sense of loss, even though Avon was correct and even though he hadn't known what to do with Avon today. "Vila, you're with Cally and Netti – and you're starting with the Flats. Stay in contact, and let me know immediately if you see any sign of the Federation. Tyce, Leharn: you're still with me. We’ll meet back here at ten.”

There was a scraping of chairs as everyone stood up, and a light chatter of conversation: Vila complaining, Cally wishing Leharn good fortune, Tyce confirming the route Netti would take across the city.

Blake found his exit blocked by Avon, who had stood with the others.

"Try not to die," Avon told him.

“That _is_ on my list of things to do today,” Blake agreed. “Second only after ‘Try to find Docholli’.” He felt slightly wrong-footed because Avon seemed not to be using his comment as a springboard for disdain. He felt even more wrong-footed when Avon grabbed the front of his tunic and tugged him into a fierce kiss. It was over before Blake had time to do anything at all, and Avon stalked off to their room.

Blake glanced back at the others, who all seemed to be watching him with fond amusement or, in Tyce’s case, wistfulness.

“He likes you, you know,” Vila said, in a strange voice that Blake had only heard a few times before. It was wise and kind, and reminded him that Vila was only a few years younger than he was, rather than the child he sometimes pretended to be. Vila was speaking the truth, as he saw it, which only made it more uncomfortable that Blake didn’t know whether he agreed with Vila or not.

“Well, don’t just _stand_ there,” he told the group irritably, and strode off in the direction of the exit before anyone else could try and pass comment on his relationship.

*

_Was Avon just playing along properly this morning because last night I said he'd been unconvincing?_

The thought was preying on Blake's mind as he strolled through a Lindorian market, a few paces ahead of Tyce and Leharn. The two politicians were old friends by now, having worked together on the Auronar-Lindorian treaty , and were chatting contentedly about something as Blake brooded. Personally Blake though that two neutral planets, neither of which had any military capability to speak of, _might_ have to change their ideas fairly quickly if they wanted to stay neutral, but he'd decided to be quiet until they'd retrieved Docholli. Normally he would have already broken that promise to himself and interrupted them, but his thoughts were preoccupied with Avon.

Had Avon decided where he wanted to take the Liberator and wanted to make good on the deal? Or was Vila right? 

Blake smiled to himself. He could almost hear Avon’s voice in his head in response to that thought - _Vila and right aren’t words that go together, Blake, unless you’re looking for the phrase ‘Vila is a right idiot’._ Naturally, Avon would be joking. Blake had watched Avon carefully over the past two years, and he knew Avon actually respected and liked Vila. That was part of the reason why Blake had always allowed himself to laugh when Avon made jokes at Vila’s expense, but never at Gan’s. And last night he had been convinced, that Avon-

He stopped, his instincts registering what his conscious brain hadn’t yet processed: a group of black-clad men, each talking to a different vendor. He fell back into step with Tyce and Leharn, who were still in the middle of laughing about something.

Blake nodded in the direction of the uniforms. “Federation,” he said quietly. “And they’re looking for something.”

“Docholli?” Tyce said under her breath.

Blake shrugged, but he knew that Docholli was _exactly_ what they were after. Servalan knew he was searching for Star One, and was trying to stop him any way she could. She was probably also interested in controlling the power for herself – and given Servalan’s corrupt and devious mind, this could easily make things even worse for those living in the Federation.

“Well, whatever they’re looking for, they have no authority to interrogate my citizens,” Tyce said, reaching for something at her hip.

“Not a good idea,” Blake said, assuming she was going for her gun. “There are ten of them, and we don’t want to attract attention to ourselves. You won’t stay neutral very long if the Lindorian Chancellor is _seen_ shooting a Federation officer in the head.”

Tyce held up a communicator. “That’s why I’m calling for the police,” she said, as though he were stupid. “They get paid for exactly this sort of thing.”

“Ah,” Blake said.

“I wonder how much the troopers know,” Leharn said thoughtfully. “Excuse me-”

He drifted off down the concourse, evading Tyce’s hand as she reached out to grab him. It felt phenomenally foolhardy. For a moment, Blake could only watch as Leharn began to stare with presumably feigned interest at one of the stalls a few steps away from a trooper. Then the trooper finished with the vendor, and turned to the Auron ambassador.

Blake turned quickly around to look at the wares on the stall nearest to him. Tyce had done the same, and Blake put his arm around her shoulder as a further disguise for both of them. Tyce was the Chancellor, a public figure whose private life was open to the citizens of her world and who was therefore known to be single; Blake wasn’t even supposed to be on this planet and was known not to have a wife.

“Look at this, dear,” he said, pointing at a plate. “Wouldn’t that look lovely in our house?”

“Oh yes,” Tyce trilled. “On the mantelpiece perhaps.”

Blake could hear the booted feet of a trooper approaching from his left. He knew had a gun. Tyce had shown him how to use it, but he didn’t want to use it here, where he was outnumbered and would probably only succeed in drawing attention to them. 

“The mantelpiece! Perfect!” he said to Tyce, and leaned down to kiss her with apparent delight, covering her face with his hands. He felt her arms go over his shoulders, blocking his face from view as well. The trooper’s footsteps got closer, and stopped. Blake’s hand itched to move down to grab his gun, but he didn’t move it from Tyce’s jaw. The sound of gravel crunching under boots moved away.

 _It’s safe,_ Leharn’s voice said in Blake’s head, and Blake pulled away from the kiss.

Leharn was ambling back towards them. He caught Blake’s elbow as he passed, Blake pulled Tyce with him, and the three of them moved steadily away from the troopers.

“Hey,” the stall vendor called after them. “Aren’t you going to buy the plate?”

“Er,” Blake said, turning back. “Later. As a gift. I _will_ be back.” He smiled reassuringly, and followed Tyce and Leharn into an alleyway.

“You were right, Blake,” Leharn told Blake as Tyce used her communicator to summon the guards to the marketplace. “They were looking for this man.” He projected an image of a much younger Docholli into Blake’s mind, the image clutched (in Leharn’s memory) in the gloved fingers of a trooper. “They have yet to find him, but they believe he operated from a stall in this market.”

“Not very hygienic,” Blake said.

“That made him memorable,” Leharn said. “I said I hadn’t seen him around recently. The man supposedly interrogating me said that this was all in accord with some information he’d received from other Lindorians. Apparently, the surgeon in question packed up two months ago, claiming he wanted to try his luck in Freedom City. He was going under the name of Raggler, not Docholli, but it sounds a lot like the man you’re looking for.”

“It could be another false trail, though,” Blake said. “If they know where he went, _why_ are they still looking for him?”

“I think,” Leharn said, with a smile, “they like it here. Nobody is shooting at them; they aren’t shooting at anyone, either.”

Blake chuckled slightly. “Vila would probably sympathise.”

“If they call in, they’ll be sent somewhere much worse. It makes sense to me. And yes – I think he would.”

Blake chewed thoughtfully on the end of his fingernail as Tyce rejoined them. “Cally’s near the space-port now, isn’t she?”

“I have already asked her to see if anyone remembers Raggler,” Leharn told him.

“The police are on their way,” Tyce said. “We should probably leave before they get here, unless you want to talk to our Federation friends, Blake.”

Blake shook his head. “We should continue searching until Cally reports back. After this market, the next on the list was the school." He turned to Tyce, expectantly.

“You didn’t feel anything, did you?” Tyce said, smiling ruefully.

She was referring to the kiss, Blake realised. Which he suddenly knew had been a very cruel thing to do, although at the time it had seemed practical and sensible.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she said. “I mean, it’s silly, isn’t it? I hardly know you-”

The communicator on Blake’s wrist chimed, saving them both and Leharn from the rest of that conversation. He answered it instinctively. “Blake.”

“The bracelets are working again,” Avon’s voice said. “Or more accurately – I have fixed the bracelets and they’re now working again.”

“Well done,” Blake said, moving off slightly so he could have this conversation in relative privacy.

“I’d say it was nothing, but clearly it wasn’t. You’re lucky I didn’t leave you down here to rot, you know. No one else could have done it, not in this half of the galaxy anyway. And certainly not without physical access to the bracelets or the Liberator.”

“I did _say_ well done,” Blake told him. “Do you want me to say it again?”

There was a slight pause. “No,” Avon said. “It’s probably not necessary. Jenna’s still in orbit, so I’m going to teleport back to the ship and change my clothes. You know where to find me.”

“We might be following you soon,” Blake told him. “I think we know where Docholli's gone.”

“I’ll arrange for a parade,” Avon said. “Which do you prefer – acrobats or jugglers?”

“Brilliant computer technicians,” Blake said. “Particularly when they solve my problems for me. _Thank you_ for fixing the bracelets, Avon.”

“Yes. Well. It was nothing,” Avon said, and disconnected the call. Was that a good sign or a bad sign? Blake wondered. With Avon it could probably be both. Perhaps even _Avon_ didn't know - he was certainly giving mixed signals.

Leharn must have said something telepathically to Tyce, because she laughed. “Tell me about it.” At Blake’s raised eyebrow, she held out a hand. “Come on. The school’s this way.”

*

Blake took his leave of Sarkoff with relief and with some considerable anxiety to depart.

Docholli had been successfully identified as having boarded a ship called the Ballee, bound for Freedom City. It was a month’s flight by public carrier, though the Liberator could probably get there in a few days. Doccholi would be well settled in by then - he might even have moved on before they arrived, but it didn't seem likely. If he did move, it would be his fifth relocation in the last year. Money must be running out, even for a top cyber-surgeon. Maybe this time they would have him.

"Netti asked me to give you these," Blake told Sarkoff as he handed over a gold-topped pen, a set of engravings, a twentieth-century walkman and a model ship in a bottle.

"You know, I could have sworn I had a pen just like this already," Sarkoff said.

"And now you do again," Blake said. He held out his hand and Sarkoff shook it. "If you wouldn't mind some advice about your weapons policy-"

"Oh, but I would," Sarkoff said.

Blake frowned. "You _would_ mind?"

"I was president of this planet for five years before I was deposed," Sarkoff said. “And now I am president again. I have my advisors, and I listen to them, whether I agree with them or not. I expect any decisions I make are, if not _fully_ considered, at least thoroughly considered, wouldn't you?" He put a steadying hand on Blake's arm. "You've been very good while you’ve been here, Blake - I don’t think you’ve tried to tell me once how I should run my life or my planet. Don’t spoil it now.”

"President Sarkoff, I really think-"

"I know _exactly_ what you think," Sarkoff said, with more fire now. “You think we should arm ourselves for the fight ahead – a sensible idea in many ways, and one I was fond of when I first returned to office. _Tyce_ persuaded me that it would be foolish to draw attention to ourselves.”

“But that's  just it - attention _is_ already on you,” Blake protested. "The Federation wants your planet."

“And yet they are still choosing to use peaceful methods to try and overwhelm us,” Sarkoff said. “I will not do anything to change their minds. And you won’t change mine. Now, can we agree to disagree, or am I going to have you thrown back to your ship?” He smiled: not quite a politician’s smile that didn’t reach his eyes, but one that made it obvious that he was humouring Blake and considered the matter closed.

Blake inclined his head. He knew he was right and Sarkoff was wrong, but the Lindorian people had the right to make their own mistakes - particularly if Sarkoff was already aware of the potential for disaster. Blake had a high enough opinion of Sarkoff and Tyce to believe they at least had a Plan B.

“It’s good to see you back in power, President Sarkoff," he said.

“Thank you, Blake,” Sarkoff said. “It was good to see you too – though not too often, I hope.”

Blake reached for the door handle, but several things about the conversation he’d just had were still bothering him, beyond the potentially fatal decision Sarkoff had taken on his neutrality. He turned back.

"This probably sounds like an incredibly stupid question after what you've just said, but - just for the record: you're not sexually _or_ romantically interested in me, are you?”

"Good heavens, no," Sarkoff said. The shock had startled a genuine grimace out of him, before he smoothed it down again. "Whatever gave you that idea? No, no. I'm afraid it would be far too much like dating myself – though I must say I think I was considerably better looking at your age."

“Better looking than _me_?” Blake said incredulously.

“Why do you ask?” Sarkoff said, looking worried. “You’re not... interested in _me_ , are you?”

“No,” Blake said. “ _No_. Definitely not.” It had all been for nothing, he realised. He could have simply arrived on the planet, gone to dinner with Tyce as friends, and gone back to the Liberator. He could have missed sleeping with Avon...

“I would have had to turn you down, of course," Sarkoff said, "but it would have been very awkward. And you know, I rather like your Avon. Clever, funny, handsome. Very much the sort of man I would have gone for if I were twenty years younger. I wouldn’t have wanted to upset him.”

“No,” Blake said, thinking ruefully of how much he needed to get to Freedom City. “I don’t like it either.”

*

Jenna was behind the desk when Blake teleported back to the ship with Cally and Vila. “Welcome home,” she said with a broad smile.

“It is good to be home,” Cally told her warmly, and the two of them disappeared off into the ship, chatting about the events of the past few days.

Both Leharn and Netti had stayed behind.

“Leharn has work to do back on Lindor,” Cally had explained when Blake had asked her whether they needed another bracelet. 

“And you don’t want to stay with him?” Blake had asked.

“ _I_ have work to do, too,” Cally had replied, with a smile.

“She didn’t want to come,” Vila had explained of Netti when Blake had asked him the same question. “I don’t know why. I told her, I said - we’re going to Freedom City. One of the greatest places in the galaxy. She said it wasn’t really her sort of thing.”

“You do know, Vila, that we might not to be going there straight away,” Blake had told him carefully.

“Why not?” Vila had said. “Because you owe Avon a trip somewhere else? Come on, Blake: wrestle with your conscience. My gambling fingers are itching, and,” he’d tried to look innocent, “we do want to know where Star One is, don’t we?”

Back in the teleport bay, he gave Blake a wink and wandered off into the ship after Jenna and Cally. Blake started to follow him and then turned back. If he went to the flight deck, he would be forced to turn the ship towards Freedom City. Every day lost was a day that the Federation could be closing in on Docholli.

He turned back towards the exit – it was the right thing to do. They _had_ to go to Freedom City. _He_ had to go. He-

He remembered Avon’s face in the soft, semi-darkness of their room the night before, and swung back into the teleport area. If he wanted to have even the slightest _chance_ of a relationship with Avon going somewhere, he could not afford to betray him.

But could he really put a relationship, and a potential relationship at that, ahead of the fate of the entire galaxy?

Blake felt the ship begin to move slowly away from Lindor. There was still time to turn it around. If he wanted to, he could set them on the right course.

And then Avon would hate him. Avon put a lot of store by promises made and broken. And that Blake could have done it after they’d slept together would only make it worse. Avon would know for sure that he couldn’t trust Blake, and without trust he would be very unwise to love him or be around him. Blake could easily imagine it being the final straw. He could easily imagine Avon leaving for good, and knew he’d need Avon at Star One.

That thought made it easier to justify the decision he knew he’d already made. He couldn’t afford to upset Avon. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to - he needed Avon.

 _In more ways than one,_ Blake thought ruefully as he turned again towards the flight deck, and climbed the steps out into the corridor. The Liberator was a fast ship, he consoled himself. However fast the Federation travelled, they wouldn’t be able to reach Freedom City from Lindor in anything less than a month. Though they _could_ send a message to ships that were closer – he almost changed his mind again, but by that point he’d reached the flight deck.

Avon looked up at him as he entered before turning back to the console in front of him. He was back in his own clothes now – the high collar of his jacket hid the love bite, but Blake knew it was probably still there. Avon bruised easily.

Blake settled down on the flight deck couch, propping his elbows up on its back, and rubbed at one of his eyes. “All right, Zen, where are we headed?”

“Destination is Freedom City,” Zen intoned. “Time until arrival is,” Blake scrambled to his feet, “thirty two hours, thirty seven minutes, and three seconds.”

 _“Freedom City?”_ Blake demanded of Avon.

Avon raised his eyebrows “I used to work in a casino,” he explained, his eyes returning to the dials and screens in front of him. “I know how easy it is to cheat most of the machines, and, of course, it will be easier now we have Orac aboard. By this time next week, I will be richer than anybody’s wildest dreams, including Vila's.”

Blake stared at him for a moment until he could think of something to say to Avon. Eventually he said, “Very convincing.”

Avon glanced up at him again, a smile flickering around the corner of his mouth. “I certainly thought so.”

A cheerful whistling sound from out in the corridor indicated Vila’s approach. Blake's pulse was still far too fast and he breathed in deeply in an attempt to steady it. 

“Come to my cabin after your watch is over,” he told Avon. “I think it’s probably time we talked about our relationship.”


End file.
